


Thanks for the vodka

by Bill_Longbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Russian Roulette, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-14 21:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15398082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/pseuds/Bill_Longbow
Summary: When a mission goes awry and Bucky is captured, he suddenly has to choose. He only has one bullet...





	Thanks for the vodka

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebelmeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Russian roulette](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/399906) by Unicatstudio. 



> Meg found this beautiful art and we both had to write a thing for it, thank you Unicatstudio for letting us! 
> 
> Thank you to [Maevee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevee/pseuds/maevee) for betaing. They write good fics, so go check them out!

He couldn’t believe the fucking, plain stupidity that had made this mission into one big shit show from start to finish. This wasn’t even ‘intern’s first day at the job’ level of screw up. No, the powers that be had teamed up to make his life a living hell. Not that that was new. They just found ever more interesting and creative ways to do so.

He glanced around the casino and held back a sigh. It was like he had stepped onto the set of a bad James Bond knock off. Without the glamour, nice cars and pretty ladies, but with a heavily sweating Russian who looked like a pig, and five equally ugly henchmen spread around him in a circle. He shouldn’t even be here in the first place, and he wasn’t talking about him surviving that fall off the train to play Hydra’s murder puppet in the decades thereafter. He shouldn't be here, because the intel he got explicitly stated there wasn't anything to be here in. Yet here he was, about to be monologued at, after his car was ambushed in what was supposed to be nothing but wilderness.

He didn’t even want to be going on missions again. He hated leaving the relative safety of his bedroom and go out into the world. To talk. Mingle. Work.

But he could hardly refuse them, could he? After all they did to rescue him, rehabilitate him, get rid of the words… With Steve looking so hopeful, so fucking joyous at every recovered memory, with Natasha doing that tiny quirk of her mouth that meant she approved, with Tony going above and beyond to make that metal monstrosity into something James could call his own.

Truth was, he was just tired. So deeply tired his bones were heavy with it. Not tired enough to sleep, never that, never enough to sleep and wake up feeling rested. It was a fatigue that had settled deep into his core. A weariness that made him ask: Why? Why bother anymore? He had begun wondering when he would break.

He knew he must be disappointing them. He tried to act like he was doing better, had practiced smiling in the mirror until it looked genuine. He tried to join in in their banter, tried to act like a sane person, but it was hard. His memory was still more holes than facts and there was precious little left of that cocky sergeant Barnes, Steve Rogers’ childhood friend.

Every interaction left him threadbare and longing for some kind of release from this hell life. Every touch like a shackle keeping him chained, unable to flee.

He wouldn't though. He couldn't do that to the man who looked so different, but was still undeniably that stubborn little guy who featured in most of his recovered memories. He could never leave _him_.

 

“Why don't you have a drink, soldat? It's not every day we catch a fly as big as you in our web,” the lead Russian spoke magnanimously and filled two shot glasses with vodka, shoving one over to Bucky. “So, how did the Americans treat you?” he asked before throwing back his drink in one go.

Bucky didn't deign to respond, observing the man instead. He was probably less incompetent than he looked, the way they had caught him spoke of a well oiled operation. He could easily overpower a few of the goons who were standing guard behind him, but not without taking unknown damage. The winter soldier wouldn't have hesitated. Taking damage was punished less severely than failure. He pushed these thoughts away, waiting for an opening.

“Just as talkative as I remember you,” the Russian chuckled, and he must have seen something of surprise on Bucky's face because he nodded and folded his hands over his fat stomach like it was story time. “We ran a few missions together, when I was younger and more agile,” he laughed and patted his belly, looking around to prompt the two mercs next to him to grin uneasily.

“I don't blame you, I was there once, when they fried your brain,” the Russian spoke idly as he poured himself another glass, “poor bastard.” He saluted Bucky and downed his glass again. “There's a large sum of money on your head.”

Bucky turned his glass round and round in his hand, weighing his options. Getting killed in action was preferable over being recaptured by someone with a chair. He couldn't hide the shudder and the Russian chuckled again. “Can't say I envy you, but, you know, business…’ the man shrugged.

“You're worth less dead than alive, but I'm not a heartless man.” He scratched his crotch, pretending to be deep in though and Bucky had to strain himself to not shatter the glass between in fingers.

The Russian motioned at one of his goons who produced an old style revolver and handed it over to his boss. The Russian made a show of checking the amount of bullets and showed Bucky it was just one. He closed it with a flurry, making the chamber rotate fast until it stopped. He slid the revolver over the table, grinning widely. “I'm giving you a chance to escape, my friend. Lady Luck will decide your fate.”

Bucky stared at the gun. One bullet, five mercenaries with semi automatic handguns in sight, one fat mercenary leader. He might be fast enough to shoot the man in front of him, duck under the table, use his metal arm as a shield, throw the vodka bottle at one of the mercs, the table at another… Could, might, maybe… Or he could put the gun to his head and end it all. Keep pulling the trigger until he hit the bullet and leave this mortal plane. No more nightmares, no more bone crushing guilt. No more sleepy morning cuddles, no more hand on his shoulder if he felt frayed, no more herbal tea brewed to his exact liking, no more quiet Russian compliments, no more stupid adorable nicknames, no more I love you’s…

There really wasn’t any choice, and he thanked whoever was up there watching over him for showing him this. With a smile he picked up the gun and put it against his head. “On your count,” he said and cocked the gun.

The Russian leaned back in his chair again, chuckling. “Very well, at three then…”

When the man reached two Bucky shot him square between the eyes and dove under the table as the mercs opened fire, hoping his luck would hold a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome!
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://bill-longbow.tumblr.com) or join us on the [ Stuckony discord server ](https://discord.gg/jtXcc3n) for all things Bucky, Steve and Tony!


End file.
